


Four Weeks

by CobaltStargazer



Category: Criminal Minds
Genre: Angst, F/M, Silence, Worried!Reid
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-13
Updated: 2014-10-13
Packaged: 2018-02-21 00:55:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2449370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CobaltStargazer/pseuds/CobaltStargazer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When you're used to the phone ringing, what happens when it doesn't?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Four Weeks

Elle returned to New Mexico after a week with Spencer, and after she kissed him at the airport he watched her until she reached her gate as he usually did, then waved when she turned and looked back before disappearing from sight. The warm feeling in his belly lingered long after he returned home, and his quiet apartment didn't seem quite so empty, even though she wasn't in it. He slept easily that night, and the next morning he got up at six to answer Hotch's text and go to work. Spring had arrived.

When he returned home and there were no voice mails waiting for him, he didn't think anything of it at first. Warm weather meant that tourist season was also beginning, which meant Elle was likely busy with the store. She'd mentioned before she left that she was planning to start having spoken word events on weekends, and he'd made a mental note to ask her how that was coming along because he wanted to attend one the next time he visited. He had no talent for poetry, but he liked to hear other people read their work. So when she didn't call right away, he just thought she was busy with work.

But when five days passed and Elle didn't get in touch, he got a little concerned. Normally she called at odd hours because of his work schedule, but the phone remained silent at night. Spencer heard from his dry cleaner, someone offering a cable package that he had no interest in, and a rare book dealer he'd contacted about some original editions, but not Elle. On the fifth day, he called her and got her voice mail, but two more days passed and she didn't call back. He tried to write it off, but it worked less effectively than it initially had.

He went to work and forced himself to concentrate, but a gnawing worry had taken up room in his stomach. He'd gotten so used to hearing from her on a regular basis that the absence of communication was causing his insecurities to kick in. What if the other shoe was about to drop? What if Elle had found someone more available? Spencer tried to shake it off. She wouldn't do that to him. He knew her well enough to know that she hated bullshit, and hating bullshit meant that if something important was on her mind she'd just come out and say it. 

Wouldn't she?

 _You're paranoid_ , Spencer's clinical side told him. _She loves you, and she wouldn't lie about that._ But as time went by and the phone rang and it wasn't Elle, his worry grew. He considered going to Garcia, asking her if she knew anything, but changed his mind at the last second. His relationship with Elle was private, and if he told Penelope that something seemed to be amiss she'd likely tell the others out of an urge to help. He didn't want to be interrogated, no matter how gently, and more than that he didn't want to face the possibility that Elle had decided to, as she herself had put it, stop showing up. So he maintained his silence on the subject, but as the days passed he frayed a little more at the edges.

After two weeks and no word, Spencer called her number at four in the morning, simultaneously cringing at he thought of waking her up and hoping like hell that she was at home so that he _could_ wake her up. He listened to her recorded message, and he strained to pick up any change in the sound of her voice and found none. "This is Elle, and as you can see I can't come to the phone right now. Drop me a message at the tone, and I'll drop you a line when I get back. Catch you later."

"Elle, it's Spencer. Again. Where are you? I haven't heard from you since you left, and uh..."

He hated himself for the way he sounded, his insecurities clawing their way out of the box he'd put them in. He couldn't articulate the emotion; all he knew was that it was an icy knot of dread waiting to devour him whole. The profiler coughed, then cleared his throat. Tried to inject a less worried note into his voice.

"Call me whenever you get the chance, okay?"

Work demanded his attention, and he grabbed for it as if it were a lifeline. Again, he considered confiding in someone, and this time he thought about telling JJ. The only thing that kept him from it was that he didn't want his fellow profiler trying to assess his feelings. He'd gained a little maturity since his early days with the unit, and he didn't want to be seen as the baby of the family again just because Elle wasn't returning his calls. So he fretted in silence, laser-focusing on cases to keep himself occupied. And still, the phone didn't ring and have her on the other end of the line.

He knew he could go see her, ask Hotch for a few days away and grab a flight to Santa Fe, then drive to Taos. He wanted to know what the hell was going on, but he was also scared to death of what he'd find if he went to her. Wasn't it better to let her do things on her own time? Less pushy? Spencer didn't want to push her. 

But then again, she'd walked out of his life once before, and it had been eight years until he'd seen her again. It was too damned soon for him to lose her again. Torn, worried, Spencer hovered indecisively, unable to decide what to do.

She wouldn't hurt him, not on purpose. He had to believe that. But given the things that had happened to him both before they met and during the time she'd been absent from his life, it was damned difficult. A month had gone by since Elle had caught her flight to go home, and every day Spencer got a little hollower inside. Morbidly, he wondered if she'd been hurt somehow, if she wasn't contacting him because she was physically unable to. He did some extremely discreet probing, found no records of accidents in New Mexico connected to the name Elle Greenaway. So where was she?

 _Maybe she got tired of you._ That was his uncertainty, jabbing at him where he was softest and most vulnerable. He was too used to people leaving him to not fear that most of all. And the worst part was the not knowing. If she was finished with him, with them, couldn't she at least have the common damn decency to _tell him so_? But she'd left once before, left without a word. For eight **years**.

He loved her, but if she'd decided it was over, then he would abide by that. He'd probably walk with a limp for the rest of his life because of it, because it felt like losing a limb, but he'd survive.

Now if he could just stop waiting for the phone to ring.


End file.
